


Smiles

by captain_afghanistan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby Holmes - Freeform, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_afghanistan/pseuds/captain_afghanistan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John leaves on a business trip, Sherlock is left to tend to their fifteen-year-old daughter -- Elle -- on his own. Soon, it spirals off into something Sherlock doesn't think he can handle. Will he be able to stop it, or will everything erupt into irreparable chaos?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Morning, Sherlock.

Elle sat up and stretched, pushing her covers off her legs. She wasn't wearing any sort of pants because the night had been hot and she just _could not_ sleep without a blanket on. She checked the clock: 8:24 am. Right about the time she normally awoke.  
She stretched and stood up, a shiver running down her spine. It was cold this particular morning - probably because she'd been foolish enough to turn on her air conditioner overnight. Elle shook her head. She was really stupid sometimes.  
She opened her closet door and pulled out a pair of grey slacks and a black cardigan. Despite the weather being particularly sunny with not a cloud in sight, she figured it might still be cold.

  
****

  
"Sherlock?" Elle said, waltzing into the living room. She always called him Sherlock; it was easier for he and John to distinguish to whom she was speaking. There was also the fact that Sherlock thought being called 'Dad' was silly.  
Sherlock didn't respond. Elle wasn't surprised. He was probably somewhere in his mind palace.  
"Sherlock!" she called again, pacing farther into the living room. "Sherlock, I was wondering what was for breakfast?"  
Still no answer. Elle sighed as she walked toward the stairs - Mrs. Hudson would surely fix her something. Perhaps a biscuit with some hot coffee. Yes, she'd like that very much.  
Despite the fact that she was only fourteen, Elle had to do a lot of things on her own. Sherlock wasn't really the parenting type and John was always away at work. Still, it was John that took her to school each morning and John that drove her to football matches. Sherlock didn't like children. She was surprised he tolerated her.  
This didn't mean that Elle didn't love Sherlock. He was like her father. He was her father. Well, not biologically - that was John - but he was still her legal father. He taught her to play violin and how to analyze situations. John always said she had inherited his intillect. She wondered how that was possible, considering she had no genetic relation to her other father, but that didn't really matter. Elle liked being compared to Sherlock. Elle loved Sherlock.  
"SHERLOCK!" she yelled one last time. One final chance for Sherlock to hear her.  
"Yes?" he said from behind her. Her heart jumped as she whipped around, blonde hair slapping her back. There he was, her Dad was just standing there plain as day as if it wasn't an odd thing to do to sneak up on one's own daughter like that.  
"Really?" she asked, sighing in exasperation. "You heard me the first two times, didn't you?"  
"Yes," Sherlock admitted, but said nothing more. Ugh. He never answered more than the question.  
"And why didn't you answer me?" she pressed, stepping closer to him.  
"I found it amusing," he said, stepping back. "You seemed so desperate to find me."  
"I wasn't desperate!"  
"Wild eyes, shaky legs, barely brushed hair," he began.  
"No. No, no. Stop."  
"You're clearly upset over something, perhaps a boy - "  
"Sherlock! Stop it!" Elle exclaimed, cutting him off. "I was just looking for you; I wasn't desperate."  
"Ha."  
"Aren't you going to ask me why I was looking for you?" she said, barely keeping herself from rolling her eyes.  
"I don't need to," he said. "I already - "  
"Know. You already know."  
"Exactly." He grinned and sat down in his chair. The special chair. His special chair.  
"Well?" Elle crossed her arms. "Then why aren't you doing anything about it?"  
"I'm not hungry yet," Sherlock replied plainly.  
"But I am!"  
"Obviously," he said, chuckling in spite of himself. "Come on, Elle, John said you were intelligent!"  
"I am!" she declared. "I just don't enjoy being toyed with like this, Dad."  
His eyebrows furrowed as he stood up. His eyes hardened as he walked to the coat wrack to grab his coat. Sherlock slipped one hand in at a time, meticulously buttoning it before raising his collar as usual.  
"How long have you had that jacket?" she asked. "It seems old."  
"Seven years, two months, and sixteen days," he answered in a wooden voice. "Shall we go?"  
  



	2. Breakfast

Sherlock waved for a cab as he and Elle stood on the pavement. When one pulled up, he climbed in, motioning for Elle to follow. She smiled.  
When she smiled, his heart felt light. Sometimes he wished he would, or could, stop being all detective-like around her. Sometimes he wished he wasn't a highly-functioning sociopath. But he was, and he couldn't stop that. He didn't want to stop that.  
"Where to?" the cabbie asked. Sherlock couldn't help being a little wary of him. He remembered one case with John where the murderer was the cabbie. Sherlock had almost not discovered him. But, he did. Of course he did. He was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. He discovered everything.  
The cabbie had been taking his customers at gunpoint into a secret location and forcing them to play a game. It was a game of death. There were two vials: one contained poison and the other was harmless. The victim had to choose a vial and drink it, and the cabbie would drink the other. If the victim did not choose, there was a gun to kill them with. Somehow, everyone chose a vial.  
What they didn't know was that the gun was fake. Sherlock had figured that out. Easy.  
"The nearest diner," Sherlock answered. for he felt like going somewhere different - the restaurant next door was too.. constant. It never changed. Never.  
"Alrighty."  
The gas started and Sherlock felt the bumps and cracks of the road under him. To his left, Elle sat with her legs crossed, staring out the window. He wished she would talk to him. He would like that.  
However, her affection was more for John than it was for him. He had made sure of it. That was the reason she wasn't to call him 'Dad.' When one develops a pet name for something or someone, they develop more intense feelings for said item or person than if they hadn't had a pet name. Sherlock had chosen John over himself. He wanted John to feel loved, because sometimes Sherlock wasn't the best at displaying his feelings. He wanted John to have one person, one constant, that showed affection.  
The cab stopped outside 'Bobby's Burgers.' Sherlock paid the man and told Elle to get out. She nodded and exited the vehicle without a word. He wished she would just talk to him.  
The bell rang as they walked into the building.  
"T-table or booth?" the host asked. Shaky hands. Bloodshot eyes. Sloppy uniform. Stutter. Very obviously a drunk.  
"Booth," Elle said. Sherlock marveled at how she would talk to the drunk but not her own father. What was he doing wrong?  
"O-okay," he said, grabbing two menus and walking them over to a red booth. "Your s-server w-will be here s-soon."  
"Thank you," Sherlock said.  
Almost immediately, the waitress showed up. Neat bun. Pencil behind ear. Confident voice. Spotless uniform. Subtle but attractive makeup. Manager.  
"What can I get for you two today?" she asked, flashing her white teeth at them.  
"I'll just have a cup of coffee," Sherlock said. "I'm not very hungry at the moment."  
"Sherlock!" Elle exclaimed. He balled up his fists under the table. He hated when she called him Sherlock. "You need to eat something!" She glanced up at the waitress. "He'll also have toast and fried eggs."  
The waitress smiled. Too young to have children. Probably still in high school or the beginning of college. Younger siblings. About Elle's age. "And for you?"  
"Oh, I'll have the blueberry waffles," Elle said. "And coffee."  
The waitress took the menus from them. "Coming right up."  
She walked away. Brisk. Little to zero hip movement. Not the subject of much male attention.  
"Elle, I told you I wasn't hungry!" Sherlock exclaimed.  
"I know, Sherlock," Elle said. "But I couldn't have you getting any skinnier."  
"Don't call me that," he said. This was his opportunity to get on closer terms with his daughter.  
"Call you what?" She seemed genuinely confused. This girl really needed to learn. And John said she was smart like he was.  
"Sherlock."  
"Well, isn't that your name?" she asked, grinning. God, he loved her smile.  
He was so glad John hadn't listened to his advice: Just drop the girl at the orphanage. We can't have an infant running around the apartment, getting into the fridge, ruining documents, upsetting customers!  
"Well then, what should I call you?" Elle asked.  
"Dad," Sherlock answered. "You will call me Dad until John returns."  
"Okay, Dad."


	3. New Order of Business

Elle walked into the house, throwing her schoolbag onto the lounge chair in the middle of the room.   
"Sherlock! I'm home!" she yelled.  
"Dad," he corrected her. "Didn't I instruct you to call me that for the duration of John's absence?"  
"Yes, you did," she said. "I'm sorry."  
"Quite alright," Sherlock said. "Now... tell me about your... day at school. Isn't that normally what you and John do?"  
"Yes," she said. "That's right."  
"Go on," he said. "I'm not going to wait all day for you."  
She giggled and flushed red. "Oh. Sorry, Sh-Dad. Um.. today was good. Chance and I went to get some ice cream after school and - "  
"Chance?" asked Sherlock. "What chance?"  
"No, Sh-Dad, Chance is my boyfriend," explained Elle. "We've been going together since last February. Surely, you must remember when I told you about him at dinner?"  
"Quite the opposite," said Sherlock. "I don't recall ever hearing of this 'Chance' as you so call him. Had you told me, I most certainly would have remembered."  
"I'm sure," she said with sarcasm, something Sherlock had not quite mastered even then. "Either way, we had ice cream after school and then he walked me home."  
"He walked you here, to 221B?"  
"Yes. Didn't I just say that?" she asked with exasperation.  
"Yes, you did."   
And she could tell that he was thinking, delving deeply into his mind palace. Oh, good God, she hoped he didn't come up with anything against her boyfriend. She was not in the mood to deal with this right now.  
"You are fifteen, correct?" he asked.   
"Yes," answered Elle. "Almost sixteen."  
"So that means your boyfriend must be around the same age -- not too old, you're not that stupid..."  
He was mumbling to himself again, trying to think up some sort of idea about Chance. Perhaps Sherlock wanted a reason not to like him, and, knowing him, he would soon think of one.  
"How often has he brought you home from school?" Sherlock asked.  
"He doesn't bring me, really. He just walks me home - "  
"Yes, but how often?" he repeated.  
"About three times a week," she replied.  
"And, have you ever invited him inside?" he prompted.  
"No," she admitted. "Should I have?"  
"If he doesn't ask, don't offer," he said sharply. "But if he does ask, then yes. Bring him in. Straight to me, actually. I would like to meet this.. Chance."  
"Alright," she said. "Any specific reason?"  
"Yes," he said, and he got up. Without another word, Sherlock walked out the door, leaving Elle to sit alone with her thoughts.


End file.
